1,159CHAPTER 3: A Man of Wealth and Taste (Part 2)
The sun was shining brightly, even this early in the morning. Its heat was fierce, ever-present, and these god-awful clothes weren't making it any easier. It was different at Hogwarts, where the castle's temperature was constantly regulated and the wards around the grounds made it, so temperatures never reached their extremes. Here, at the Burning Phoenix, they made no such alterations. The weather was a crucial part of the sport, or so they said, and though it would sweat out the decrepit gaffers in the course, it was more of an annoyance than anything to him,
Draco pulled out his wand as he strolled towards his ball, letting it fall by his side as he muttered the spell beneath his breath. He felt as it changed in his hand, its grip growing broader and length extending as it became the 7-iron he had been picturing. Its head treaded against the grass, stopping right at the edge of the ball as Draco began lining his shot. The wind was heavy, the sun blaring, and despite the lack of sound around him, he could almost hear his father with how heavy his eyes felt behind his head. Eyes on the ball, breathing slowly, Draco raised the club over his head and brought it down fiercely. And he watched his pride as his ball was launched into the air before falling cleanly on the green.
"Up in three. Nicely done, son," his father praised him. And though his voice was genuine, Draco couldn't help but feel a slight jab in the words. His father had done it in two shots.
"I'm out of practice," he said, sounding pathetic even to his ears. "Honestly, with how much we spend on Hogwarts, the least they could do is build a course there. They could have it as an elective, Merlin knows that would be more useful than whatever beasts that oaf Hagrid keeps in his shack."
His father gave an amused chuckle, and replied, almost fondly. "That, it would."
He grabbed Draco by the arm and apparated them onto the green. His father's ball was somehow closer to the flag than his own. After launching a spell that transformed Draco's ball into a small chip on the ground, his father's wand too morphed into a putt. He took less time with his shots, and Draco couldn't help but marvel at just how easy he made it look when he softly hit the ball across the green and made it land softly in the hole. If it wasn't for the anti-cheating wards placed around the entire course, Draco would have sworn there had been magic involved.
"How did school go?" His father finally asked.
Draco had been expecting the question for a few days now. It was always his mother who asked first. This time hadn't been any different. Draco had just returned to the manor for the summer. His mother had picked him up at the station, and when Draco asked where his father was, he was surprised to hear his mother say; "Your father got hold up at work, sweetheart." He wasn't at the manor when his mother apparated them both there, nor did he join them for dinner later in the night. That was when his mother asked the question.
"I don't know," Draco shrugged, already bored before they even touched the topic. His mother was just trying to make conversation, he didn't blame her, but there was nothing he would rather think less about now than school. "OWLs were fine, easier than I expected. Results should come by in a few weeks now."
"And what about everything else? I heard that Umbridge woman took… a lot of liberties."
"She took our wands, if that's what you mean," Draco said, colder than he meant. He was about to curse that woman before he remembered who he was talking to. More than just being his mother, Narcissa Malfoy was a lady, and if Narcissa Malfoy found him being anything less than a gentleman to a lady, he would come to regret it. He had already, too many times to forget it. "I don't like her. I'd even take Dumbledore back at this point, but at least Scrimgeour is putting order back at Hogwarts."
His mother smiled at him, and though she didn't mean it, it felt almost patronizing. "Yes, I can see why you'd be happy with that."
When his mother asked him about school, it was about tests and teachers. She cared about his results, his academics, and though those were important to his father too, when he asked about his year at Hogwarts, Draco knew it wasn't about how many Outstandings he'd got. Throughout all four other years, Draco had always been open with his father about everything. His father was a great man, after all, and a lot of the advice he'd got from him had been more than helpful. But this year was different, something had changed along the way. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that his father already knew more than Draco would want him to know - he was resourceful like that - but it still felt wrong talking about it all. The Montagues, Theo and Pansy's midnight rendezvous, anything to do with Harry Potter, especially after all those papers that had been coming out over the past few months.
"It was… an interesting year," he walked past his father, taking the chance to face away from him. "Eventful. I think I finally started making progress with the others."
"Others?"
"Yes. Zabini. Greengrass. Parkinson. Even Nott, if you can believe that."
"I met his father recently," his father said calmly. "He's an interesting man. Smart, highly determined, if a bit off, though I do see what you mentioned about his son." Draco ignored him, focusing on practising a few swings just behind the ball. "Crabbe and Goyle?"
"They're there, occasionally. But they're not part of the group, per se. They're not like us." He turned to his father and made a dumb face, sticking out his tongue with his eyes backward while he moved his hands wildly."
"Yes, it's unfortunate the boys didn't inherit much from their fathers," the distaste in his father's voice was very familiar, and comforting in a way Draco didn't understand. "How does Potter fit in?"
Draco hit the ball, a little too roughly, and it passed right by the edge of the hole. He gave a little groan but pushed down the frustration. "I'm not sure. He was gone for most of the year, but he's got closer with Parkinson and Nott. Potter's always been a bit odd, you know? He keeps to himself as much as he can. He hates people, always has."
His father hummed appreciatively. "He doesn't show it. Boy's done a good job playing with the media, I didn't expect that of him based on what you had told me before."
"Yeah, I didn't know he had that in him either," Draco laughed.
"So Potter hangs around Parkinson and Nott." And so do you, was left unsaid, but Draco heard it pretty well.
"The six of us do. After everything he's done, he's a bit hard to ignore."
"I'm not reprimanding you for it, Draco. There's no need to make excuses."
"You're not? But he's… well… you know. How is that okay?"
"The enemy of your friend isn't your enemy, not until you make him so. Potter's smart, he's powerful, and Ares himself praises his skills. There is no need to antagonize someone like that, the others know that just as much as you do."
"Obviously, I know," Draco scoffed. "But after what he did… the Dark Lord will not forgive him, will he? Potter's marked for death, won't we also be if we stick with him?"
"Not unless you stand against him. The Dark Lord is a smart man, he appreciates the value of connections, of building relationships. Potter is marked for death, but he's a part of this war whether he likes it or not. You aren't."
"But I will be, won't I? Someday, I'll join you at his side. Just like you joined grandfather."
"You will, but not for a long time," his father explained calmly. "You're just a boy, not even of age, I was nearly five years older than you when I first served the Dark Lord. This war is not your concern."
"Not right now, you mean."
"By the time you're ready, this war will be over. You'll have your time, Draco, just like I have mine, but there's no need to rush into it. Focus on yourself, on your classes, on your friends. Enjoy these last years at Hogwarts. Responsibility isn't meant to be dropped on the youth, not before you've prepared them enough for them to carry it."
Something in him felt the need to fight for it. It wasn't that he was eager to fight in a war. He was a coward, for as much as the others mocked him about it, he was proudly a coward. But he had to, he had to prove to his father that he was just like him, that he was worthy and ready and willing to carry the Malfoy name. "Potter's involved, and he's nearly a year younger than me."
"And I pity him for it," his father put his arm around his shoulder, giving him that weird, awkward hug only his father could give, and Draco didn't fight him. "You want something to focus on? Get that ball in the hole."
He could hear the crowd even through the duelling shield. Nearly all the off-duty Aurors inside the building had shown up, and though neither he nor Potter advertised what had become their weekly duelling session, word always got around. The two of them were circling each other, waiting for either to make the first move. This was their seventh and final duel, the one that would define the tie they often ended up in, and neither of them was too eager to start it. Potter was fast, faster than nearly anyone he'd ever faced, but it was more than that. He could cast wordlessly, he cast his spells quickly and efficiently without dragging out his motions, he dodged and spun and somehow managed to read everything Rufus did before he even thought it. After years in the force, Rufus couldn't recall meeting more than seven or eight wizards who could properly out-duel Potter.
As much as it pained him to admit it, he'd been forced to put in place some rules to handicap the boy. Apparating wasn't allowed, nor were any curses. Purely disarming, stunning, or low-end hexes and jinxes could be cast. There was also nothing in the environment he could use, Rufus had learnt the hard way how Potter loved to play around with it in attempts to gain the edge in the fight. Aurora was, naturally, also banned from participating. And even after all those rules in place, and the fact that Potter's connection to his wand wasn't as strong as Rufus', the boy took it in stride. Smiling and playing along with his games. He enjoyed the thrill, enjoyed it a little too much in Rufus' opinion.
The rule that seemed to bother the boy the most was the lack of curses, and Rufus wasn't always sure if it was because Potter wouldn't be able to hurt him, or because he wouldn't be able to hurt Potter.
Finally, the boy struck first, sending out a barrage of jinxes and hexes that flew too fast for Rufus to be able to process them. He raised a shield, trusting it would be enough to fully block them out given how underpowered they were. But Potter was unrelenting, unwilling to stop until Rufus managed to parry one back to him and forced him to side-step it. Rufus began his assault, but unlike Potter's the boy somehow managed to launch more than a few spells his way even while under attack. The boy began moving around the dome, forcing Scrimgeour to keep moving and raising shields just so that he could keep up with him, all the while Potter's unpredictable movement made it harder to nail him down with a spell, and whatever was sent his way, the boy easily dodged it without blinking an eye.
The auditorium had gone completely silent, the flashes of never-ending spells crashing against his shields, inches from his face, were almost blinding. Before he knew it, Rufus was being forced into a corner. Potter was gaining momentum, getting faster with each spell as he reduced any chance for Rufus to counterattack. He was getting closer and closer to the edge, but even as Potter kept at it, Rufus refused to let him win. He blocked everything and began dodging as well once it was clear there was no other choice. It was tedious, like trying to win a game of chess with just a king and a pawn, and it was making the boy impatient. He wanted it over, it was clear in his eyes, and it was ambitions like that which only led to recklessness.
Conjuring a rope from his wand, Potter raised it high and whipped it towards Rufus. But instead of dodging it or trying to bat it away, Rufus used a summoning charm on the tip of the rope and pulled forward, bringing Potter with it. He stumbled, and Rufus rushed in. He launched everything he could think of, stunning spells, disarming charm, knock-back jinxes, tripping hexes, even some more advanced spells like the impediment jinx or stretching jinxes that would limit his movements. But Potter was up on his feet quickly and easily dodged the bolts that flew his way. Rufus quickened his advance, the boy's eyes were moving wildly as his body swung and contorted itself, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. And then, Potter did something that surprised Rufus. He raised his wand and shielded himself instead of dodging. The spell was parried away, but the effect was the desired one, as it broke the shield completely and made Potter falter just in time to be hit by the spell behind it.
He tripped forward, helplessly falling on his face, and just as Rufus sent the final stunning charm that would end the duel, only to watch Potter catch himself with a roll and immediately jump over the spell. And then, faster than Rufus could react, he raised his wand and hit him with a spell that ripped Rufus' out of his hand.
The room exploded with cheers as the duelling shields fell around them. Clapping and whooping, and Rufus was still too stunned to fully process it. Potter laughed, tiredly, before letting himself fall backwards and roll on the floor, landing on his knees. He smiled and gave Rufus a nod of respect, which Rufus returned. But as the room continued to grow louder, there was a sudden, loud blast that shocked everyone into silence.
Albus Dumbledore stood just beside the doorway, a polite smile on his face as he addressed everyone calmly. "Yes, a brilliant spectacle," he praised. "Though I do believe the lunch break has finished."
The Aurors immediately began rushing out of the room, with shouts of "Yes, Head Auror," and "Yes, Sir," resonating throughout the room. And as the room began emptying, Albus turned towards the both of them and gave them polite nods. "Minister, Mister Potter," he said, before, too, walking away.
With a groan, Potter stood up, dusting off that leather jacket he had constantly been wearing since he woke up from his coma. "Great session, Minister," he shook Rufus hand eagerly. "You're a more interesting fight than my usual sort, even with all your restrictions."
"You cheated," Rufus deadpanned. "Conjurations were not allowed."
"No, conjurations were never discussed in your rules," he replied cockily. "Only curses and dangerous spells. Nothing dangerous about a piece of rope, sir."
"Anything in your hands is dangerous, Potter."
The boy laughed at that, and the two of them discussed the duel on their way to his office. Simple observations of their seven rounds, with each of them giving each other whatever feedback they could think of. They'd been doing this for nearly two months now, and it always ended like this. Hearing Potter's comments was an insightful, if not slightly frightening, way of getting a glimpse of what goes around inside that mind of his. The way it almost seemed wired for warfare, tips and tricks and knowledge about battle that a fifteen-year-old boy shouldn't know. It was tragic and disturbing, and it made him even more wary of Potter, despite his behaviour over the past month.
"You knew, didn't you? About the tripping jinx," Rufus asked.
"Read it before you even cast it," Potter smirked. "You developed a pattern, I don't think you noticed."
"I hadn't."
"Well, I knew it was coming, the only problem was the two curses that sandwiched it. I needed to avoid the first one and startle you from casting the second one, hence the shield."
"And since you knew you were going to trip, you managed to catch yourself before hitting the ground."
"Exactly!" He beamed. "It's not really useful in the real world, but I came up with the idea a few weeks back. You use that spell a lot, I do hope you don't do that in a real fight."
"Why's that?" He asked, more stubbornly than anything.
"I think I just proved why."
"Fair enough," Rufus said, instead of verbalizing his real thoughts and letting the boy's ego grow further.
The Minister's office was cold and formal, devoid of any of Fudge's previous additions that gave it more personality. While it raised eyebrows to others, Rufus felt it was better this way. The office wasn't supposed to be comforting or welcoming, this was where he worked, where he was meant to be focused and deal with the endless stack of work that just kept piling up. Anything further than that would simply compromise his productivity, and as a newly appointed Minister put in place after the worst attack Britain had ever seen, he couldn't afford to be slacking off. Even his sessions with Potter were reserved during his lunch hours.
"So, have there been any more Death Eater attacks?" Potter asked, carelessly, taking the seat in front of him.
It was a stupid question, one meant to get a rise out of him. With Potter out of Hogwarts, he should have been expecting this. "The bastards are getting more callous. Targeting Muggles out in the open."
"They're trying to force your hand. Stretch you thin. They know that any damage to the Statute is your problem to fix, and they're betting you'll spend more resources on it."
"I very well know what they're doing."
"So what are you doing to counter it?" Potter challenged.
Rufus pulled out a few files from the drawer to his right and set them on the table. "These are some of the most prominent men and women in the country. Most of them at the Wizengamot, all of them powerful enough for the Dark Lord to take interest in them."
Potter reached for the files, but Rufus placed his hand above them before he could grab them. "This stays between us."
"Noted," he replied with a sardonic smile.
Rufus waited a few seconds before letting them go.
"Wilkes, McNair, Malfoy…you're following up on the imperioused Death Eaters."
"If they weren't imperioused they need to be kept in check, and if they were, there's a likely chance the Dark Lord will want his servants returned. Either way, this is how we get to them."
"And does the Wizengamot know of this?" He asked mildly, though with a hint of amusement.
"It's only the two of us and Albus."
"Oh, they're going to love it when they find out."
"So long as you keep your mouth shut, I don't fear that will become an issue."
"My lips are sealed, Minister," Potter smiled. "All those locks and vows and other stuff you had the Unspeakables put in place will make sure of that."
That was true, but even with all of those precautions he had made, along with Albus and Bedivere Parkinson, a part of him was still concerned that Potter would somehow find a loophole.
"I want to join you," the boy said abruptly. "Not just with the investigations on the side, but on the actual raids. Responding to attacks or whatever comes of this, I can help."
"We already spoke about this-"
"I'm out of Hogwarts, and I believe I've shown you I can handle myself more than well enough."
"You're too valuable of an asset," Rufus snapped back. "Not just because of your connection to the prophecy, or the influence it brings you, but because you're one of our best fighters. If you get injured at the wrong time, captured, or Merlin forbid, murdered, the Death Eaters will push against us with everything they've got. You're keeping them in check just by hanging around here."
Potter already knew that, they'd talked about this a hundred times over, but he still looked pissed after every repeat of this conversation. Rufus was glad about it, witnessing the boy's anger was more comforting than he'd ever thought it would be. There was something off about seeing the boy smile. He had got used to the whining, sadistic brat he had come face to face with only a few months ago. And though, occasionally, there would be hints of that boy that would prove to Rufus he wasn't gone, he often felt as if he was talking to a different person.
"We're tabling this conversation for later, there are still more important things I want to discuss with you before you leave."
Albus stood at the doorway, watching as Harry focused on the small earring in front of him. His brother was there, standing at his side, analysing the boy just as thoroughly as Albus himself. He could feel the magic ebbing from the pendant, dark and twisted, just as it was alluring. This wasn't something Aberforth had conjured for practice or magic he would cast himself on some old Black jewellery he found around the house. It was genuine. He was surprised Aberforth had advanced him this far already, but as much as Albus hated it, there was a benefit in having Harry confront an object like this. Safe, controlled practice always failed when reality made first contact, and for someone like Harry, it was best to prepare him for what he would come to face in the years to come.
Still, the boy looked impassive, unaffected, something that was much more impressive given how attuned to Magic he had proven to be. He was feeling its effects just as strongly as Albus, and he didn't seem fazed. Harry took his time. He was thorough with his scrutiny of the earring, Albus could almost see how he was interacting with the curse, almost using his magic to prod at the pendant, a tantalizing dance, as dangerous as reckless as it was amateurish, but it was something Harry often did without even noticing it. That bad habit took Albus a little more than a few years before he managed to fully control it, so he couldn't blame Harry for it, especially given how he wasn't aware of it until a few weeks ago.
He should have expected it. Being a child of Fate, like himself, it was only reasonable, Harry's connection to Magic was beyond almost anything he'd ever seen before. Perhaps, with time and age, he would manage to surpass Albus. Learning to control his magic was the most important thing they needed to teach the boy, with the Horcruxes in play, it made it too dangerous not to.
After a few moments, Harry finally raised his wand. His wand movements were done well, and the pronunciation was recited correctly, but the result was still weak. Still, the spell connected with the pendant, but it didn't last much before Harry groaned, pulling back as if the wand in his hand was suddenly burning. He holstered it, shaking his hand as he bit his lip. Knowing the boy, he was pushing back any of the hundred expletives that were threatening to burst out.
"Remember, Harry," Albus spoke softly, revealing his presence. "Control. Keep your magic to yourself, don't let it linger and extend."
"I know, I know, that's not the problem." Harry was stubborn. He would never admit that something was too much for him. So he didn't, but Albus understood it regardless. The boy turned to Aberforth. "What curses are in this thing?"
"Does it matter?" Aberforth asked gruffly.
"If they're stronger than they should be, then yeah, I'd say so."
"Overpowering a curse won't always be a solution," Albus said calmly.
"If it was ever the solution, we wouldn't be having him here, would we?" Aberforth shot back, glancing a warning at him. Albus nodded and stepped back. This was his session, after all, he shouldn't be meddling. "Curse breaking isn't about blasting the door, but about picking the lock. Trying to force your will onto the curse will often do more harm than good, most cursed objects will often turn it back on you, just as you've seen. Curse-breaking is about understanding Magic as a whole. Its bases, its fundamentals. Have you done the Arithmancy reading I left you?"
"I'm working on it," Harry said testily. "It's a lot to take in."
"Read it. Practice it. Understand it. Before we continue with our sessions, you need to learn how to read the Magic of a curse or object. Otherwise, it's just a waste of time and energy for the both of us."
"I'm a little bit busy, I won't be able to finish it all for Thursday."
"Then finish as much as you can. Whatever you can't, you'll study it here. Under my supervision."
Brusquely, Aberforth walked away, barely sparing a glance at Albus as he left the room. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, looking more like a teenager than he had in those previous months.
"War hasn't mellowed him out, has it?"
Albus smiled. "I'm afraid very few things can."
"We don't have a session today, do we?"
"No, not until tomorrow," he shook his head. "What wand are you using, if I may ask?"
Harry shrugged. "Don't know who it was from. One of the snatchers from the night of the sieges. It was the one that worked best for me."
"But a temporary solution."
"Yes," he smiled.
"Harry, I know my attempts to piece your wand back together didn't pan out, but I'd like to offer my help again. With Aurora in the picture, there's a chance one of her feathers could replace your old core. It's untested, but in theory-"
"Sir, don't worry. I appreciate the help, but I'm working on a solution. I'll be ready for the fight, whenever it may come."
"Ah, well, I'm glad you've found someone to help you out with it."
Harry smiled again. A polite smile, but one that told Albus the boy wouldn't say anything beyond that. "Was there anything else you needed, sir?"
There was, actually. They hadn't been working long enough for Albus to ask this favour of him, yet, especially since he'd been rebuffing any further attempts of cooperation beyond their biweekly training sessions with him. But he'd waited long enough. Time was running out for them. He had to ask this now.
"Yes, I was hoping you'd do me a favour. One I don't think you're going to be very fond of."
Harry apparated just outside the Burrow. Life had got a lot more hectic lately. He barely had any time to be at Blackstone, splitting most of his time between Rufus and the Dumbledores, it forced him to leave the house early and kept him from returning until dinner. The days just weren't long enough, not with all that he needed to do, and every day the list kept growing. Back at Hogwarts, he had a certain liberty to multitask freely. The adults didn't expect much of him, not with his OWLs, and keeping himself in the public eye was easy with the Hogsmeade trips and the interactions with the others. In the past four days, he'd been moving back and forth between locked doors, and whatever free time he had from the Ministry and Grimmauld was spent at Parkinson Palace, with either Pansy forcing herself into his Aberforth studies or Bedivere summoning him to his office.
He'd ask very specific questions to him, keeping him there for hours, sometimes until he was satisfied. The night of the sieges was a popular topic, especially his encounter with Voldemort, but that wasn't where it ended. His connection with Aurora, what he saw inside the Department of Mysteries, his relationships with other students, what deals he'd made with Dumbledore and Scrimgeour, he even picked up on his sudden liking to the public eye. Harry always kept his answers vague, trying to answer as little as possible without antagonizing Bedivere. It wasn't that he didn't trust the old man. It was that Bedivere already had too many secrets of his own.
Still, it was those meetings with Bedivere that kept him on his toes, so in a way, Harry was grateful for them. They forced him to think and kept him from staying comfortable, even as everything was going his way. He had his meeting with Bedivere early in the morning, and yet, even after his afternoon Scrimgeour and session with the Dumbledores, it was Bedivere's words that were stuck in his head. Granting Dumbledore his favour came easy for him, despite everything. It would even manage to be fun, at times, if he tried. But he had more important things to focus on, other problems to solve still stuck in his head. Now that he was in the Burrow, though, they all went away.
This was the first time he'd be seeing Mrs Weasley in a long time. The whole family would be there. Harry was not expecting a warm welcome, he was ready for anything that might come his way. And even as those problems still lurked in his mind, trying to get out, something kept them there. Mrs Weasley hadn't invited him just so that he would sulk in the corner, so he wasn't going to.
"Oh, Harry! Come in, come in," Mrs Weasley greeted him, hugging him tighter than anyone ever had before ushering him inside.
Not knowing what to expect of the Weasley house, having never actually entered it in the other universe, didn't make it any less surprising to him. It was as tall as it was small. The living room and kitchen were cramped together on the ground floor, with a tight, curved staircase right in the middle. It felt as small as his cupboard had felt in those early days at the Dursleys. The place was a bit of a mess, too, with things thrown all over the couches and chairs, it was a miracle that there was any room to walk around, especially with five people already there waiting for him. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, and though a part of him wanted to hate it, Harry couldn't bring himself to it.
He didn't have to ponder what-ifs any more. In another life, he would have loved this place. Tonight, he was satisfied with not hating it.
Besides Ron and Ginny, George was the only other of the siblings there, which surprised Harry given the army of Weasleys that Hogwarts had hosted in the past ten years alone. Ginny came to him and hugged him, something Harry couldn't help but think she got from her mother, and though Ron's greeting was a bit awkward, it wasn't any less genuine. But it was Mr Weasley who surprised Harry as he hugged him in a way he hadn't expected from the older man. "Thank you," he whispered in Harry's ear. "Just… thank you." George wasn't as eager as the others, giving him a nod and a half-hearted smile from across the room. It was the first time seeing him since the night of the sieges, and the effect was apparent. He could still see traces of the burns, peeking out of his shirt through his arms and neck. George noticed his eyes straying and tried to hide them again. He couldn't help but think about Fred. George had seemed like the prime example of good health compared to the other twin. There had been rumours throughout Hogwarts about what happened to him, and it seemed he wouldn't get any confirmation of them tonight.
And still, despite everything he did that night, the tiniest amounts of guilt started crawling up his spine. It hadn't been Harry who lured George there, and he'd tried to warn the Order about the attack. He'd done everything right, and yet, it had been for nothing. Was that really guilt? Or just leftover frustration from everything the Death Eaters had done that night? He wasn't sure, it didn't really matter, in the end.
The food was delicious, just as how he remembered it from those days when they'd hang out at the Weasley's pool and Mrs Weasley would bring them some snacks. There was nothing like it. Not Hogwarts. Not the Dursleys or even Augusta's elves compared to this. And though the room was very quiet at first, things ended livening up. Ginny and Mrs Weasley took charge, starting the conversation and trying to get everyone in on it. Mr Weasley was just as excited to join as the girls, and though Ron tried to be friendly, there was a certain tension and awkwardness that was felt during the silent moments.
This wasn't the Ron he got to know, and this Ron didn't know him. But that didn't stop Harry from trying. Mrs Weasley and Ginny were important people to him, and he'd seen just how good of a friend Ron could be in those three months away. Last time, it was he and the other Gryffindors who reached out to him and forced him in. It seemed that now would be his turn, and Dumbledore had just given him the perfect olive branch for it.
"I've also been visiting Dumbledore at Grimmauld," he told everyone after Mr Weasley asked him about his duelling sessions with Scrimgeour. "I don't get to see him much at the Ministry, so he and Aberforth tutor me there. I was actually surprised I hadn't run into one of you there."
"The Order disbanded," Mr Weasley explained. "After Augusta and the others left, most moved to the DMLE with Albus. With Rufus being Minister and Albus being made the new Head Auror, there was no need for the Order any more."
"Does that mean you're becoming an Auror too, Mrs Weasley?" Harry asked Mrs Weasley. The idea of her as an Auror was incredibly funny and scary, depending on who you were.
"Oh, goodness me, no," she laughed. "With Arthur already at the DMLE and Bill being one of the new recruits, I think there are enough Weasleys there. I may not have joined the corps, but Albus knows that if there is any emergency, he can also count on me."
"That's very admirable, Mum," Ginny said proudly.
"Now, don't go getting any ideas," Mrs Weasley suddenly said, her voice a tone sharper. "You're all children-"
"We know, Mum," George's quiet voice was heard by all. This was practically the first time he'd spoken during the dinner. "We know." He then stood up abruptly and grabbed another plate before heading up the stairs.
"You'll have to forgive our son. After that night… these topics-"
"Mr Weasley," Harry interrupted. "There's no need to apologise. I understand."
The whole atmosphere at the table had shifted, and Harry was regretting bringing up the topic. To him, that had been a long time ago now, and as far as he was concerned, that ended up being one of the best nights of his life. Beyond a few lingering regrets, he hadn't lost anything that night. That was when everything finally started turning his way. Not for the Weasleys, as he sometimes forgot.
"He shouldn't have been there," Mrs Weasley said brokenly. "None of you should have."
"I agree, but with Voldemort out there, sometimes there won't be a choice," Harry said firmly. "Mrs Weasley, today, Dumbledore asked me if I could teach Neville in Defence. He's seen my progress, he knows I'm up to the task. I can teach Ron and Ginny if you'd like. The twins and all your other sons are welcome there too."
"We could tell Hermione," Ron perked up.
"Yes," Ginny exclaimed. "Oh, this is such a great idea."
"Ginny-"
"No, Mum, please, you have to let us do this. After everything that happened, don't you think we should at least be prepared?"
Mrs Weasley turned to Harry. He could see how much she struggled with this, how hard it was for her to think that her children would be in any trouble. But even if training meant her children would be more willing to fight, it also meant they'd at least be prepared for it. Harry thought she understood that now. And with the severity in her eyes, this whole war stopped being a game to him. Even if just for a second. "You'd do that for us?"
"The more, the merrier."
Thank you for reading! Hope you guys enjoyed this new chapter.
I'm hoping to get back to my long forgotten weekly schedule soon. So you should look forward to start getting more frequent updates :)
By the time I'm posting this, I'm THIRTEEN chapters ahead, and I'm starting the third arc of this book titled Show of Hands! If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT
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